Chapter 59: Conspiracies

The lift stopped with a clang: both Sirius and Yasmine Khorasani waited a moment before stepping out.

Sirius, because he knew what was waiting for them in the Wizengamot's antechamber – he'd never come as Lord Black before, but he'd come along with his grandfather and father once or twice.

Yasmine, because she only had a vague idea of what to expect out there. Of course, she'd researched the subject since she'd agreed to the Black lord's offer of employment – but that had been five days ago, so no, she hadn't had the time to find out much more than how a Wizengamot full session usually went, and on which sides most participants leaned.

Black, as expected of him, knew that:

"Today, you watch, get a better feel of the job. Don't hesitate to ask me if there's something you want to confirm, or even to point out, but you won't be able to do that and observe at the same time, so. Also, once we're in the auditorium, only whisper if you have to, and stay right behind me. Advisors don't get proper seats, I'm afraid, just standing benches."

Ms Khorasani mouth twitched, just a bit, but she remained impassive.

"...How long does a session last?"

The lift's door opened, revealing the ninth level of the Ministry of Magic. As for the trials, they had to go down the stairs to get to the deepest floor: Wizengamot full sessions were held in the first room, an auditorium just a bit different from the courtrooms. The seats there were assigned, with each member – and their entourage, advisors or delegates – being almost isolated from the rest of the Wizengamot: parliamentary sessions were not meant for collusion – or at least, you had to orchestrate any cooperation between members beforehand.

They started down the stairs.

"Usually two to three hours. It can go on longer, but in all cases, there's a ten-minutes break every hour. If it goes past five hours, there's a longer break, and if it lags into the late evening, then we go home and reconvene in the morning."

Unsurprisingly, the last time a full session had gone into the night, it had been right after Voldemort's fall – when the catsatrophes had died down, but not the consequences. When the Wizengamot had needed to figure out where to go from then on.

Not that Sirius had been there to witness it, but Dumbledore and Elphias Doge had mentioned it.

Speaking of the two old wizards, they were the first people Sirius and Ms Khorasani spotted when they entered the auditorium's antechamber.

Chief Warlock and Special Advisor, of course they were there.

Dumbledore nodded at them.

"Lord Black. Ms Khorasani. I've taken note of your appointment as a delegate to the House of Black. Congratulations."

Yasmine didn't have much to say on the matter for now, so she only thanked her old headmaster.

Sirius elected to completely ignore the unpleasant feeling down his spine at being called "Lord Black" – the Wizengamot session hadn't yet started, but the setting was already here and as Chief Warlock, Dumbledore might not want to forgo formalities, he could understand that – and smiled, if a bit tightly:

"Today, she's here as my advisor, but yes, Ms Khorasani might step in should I be unavailable for a session. The House of Black has been absent for more than five years: it is time to change that."

Ugh, listen to him. Sirius had never wanted to play this role before, and his stance on the matter hadn't changed at all... He just didn't have much of a choice. Regardless of his personal feelings or his misgivings regarding the importance given to the noble houses within the Wizengamot, the voice of the House of Black mattered here, and they needed him to use it the right way.

Ideally, he'd have someone else doing it for him – but, you know, for that to happen, he needed to trust his delegate, and as of now? He barely knew Yasmine Khorasani at all.

Also, trust issues.

And let's not talk about the fact that a lot of the members of the Wizengamot wouldn't take a brand new delegate as seriously as the actual Black Lord, even if they both had roughly the same amount of experience in this matter. It wasn't even – or, only – about snobbery, either: the truth was that Blacks were different, for better or for worse, and everyone knew it.

Good or bad, clever or stupid, you had to mind them, to listen to what they said, else you might end up with a situation you'd never expected, a catastrophe in the making, a landslide that could not be stopped.

People listened to them, if only out of fear of what they might be plotting.

Dumbledore soon left to talk to someone from the Wizengamot Administration Services before the session could start; only then did Ms Khorasani speak again – she'd been surveying the members of the court already present, or trickling into the large antechamber after their own entrance.

"I only had the time to both review the basics of a parliamentary session and get a look at the various factions, you do realize that?"

Sirius had offered her the job to have someone getting the feel of the court for him...

It'd been less than a week since they'd formally signed the advisory contract, so he only shrugged:

"You can't get a feel for the members of the Wizengamot if you never see them in person, and two pairs of eyes are better than one. I may be great at doubting people and poking where it hurts, but a more... conciliatory outlook will definitely help. I have my own... I don't want to say prejudices, because it doesn't have much to do with those, but there are some assumptions I might make where you'd see something entirely different. You were raised in a mixed family with much less wealth than I am accustomed to, to begin with."

Ms Khorasani's eyebrows inched up

"Lower middle-class is the word you're looking for, and sure, I've got muggle grandfathers and a muggle aunt-by-marriage, and also, mixed cultural background, I'm not sure which one you were talking about."

"Eh, I was thinking muggle, but both work. Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're too young to remember the first war well, aren't you? You don't have the same amount of, well, ingrained bitterness and grudges regarding what may come."

The younger woman licked her lips pensively before she nodded, though there was a small amount of hesitation in her agreement.

"I do remember some of it, I was ten years old when it ended and my brother is several years older than me, but... I guess we weren't as closely concerned as you were, or even most of the nobles here. Don't get me wrong, there were a few incidents and injuries, but some families had it much worse than us, in the last years."

Jasmine Khorasani, indeed, was around Nymphadora's age – or Bill and Charlie Weasley's, too. Unlike Harry and his generation, those children hadn't grown up after the war – which also meant that today, as unrest and murders came anew, they were adults with enough experience to at least scrap by.

Older than Sirius and his friends had been, themselves, when they'd joined the Order.

That was something, at least.

Well. Time to get to work and prepare themselves for the Wizengamot's upcoming session.

"Who do you recognize here?"

Ms Khorasani made a face and tilted her head towards the closest cluster of heads of Houses.

"Those are the Ravenclaw-leaning Houses, right? Some of them, at least. I don't know all the lords and ladies, but I recognize the various emblems and familial bearings."

Members of the Wizengamot were required to wear the official plum robes for trials and parliamentary sessions alike, but nothing stopped them from wearing specific items to indicate their status and allegiances. Heads of Houses would often have hats or jewelry, ties, undercoats or buttons with their family's colors or arms, the three representatives of the Ministry and other affiliated advisors all wore high-collared uniforms under the plum robes, while the seven elected representatives of the people did more or less what they wanted.

Elphias, for exemple, never failed to put on his Academe graduation pillbox hat, just to remind everyone that he was here as Special Advisor, someone whose life was mainly dedicated to knowledge and its appropriate uses – and that he wasn't interested in power grabs.

Sirius himself had gone with the House of Black's colors – which were his usual main colors for clothing items, so people might not notice, and technically he wasn't even certain if that counted as wearing House-affiliated items on purpose. You know, black tunic and silver buttons, oh, and his new favorite silvery spider clip behind his head.

"Well-spotted. Sylvanus Greengrass, with the two-toned green collar, somewhere in his early sixties, but he's been the head of his House for nearly twenty years, as his father retired from the Wizengamot early. Their family is maybe a bit more Slytherin-leaning than Ravenclaw, but generally speaking they are more cautious than ambitious. And the older lady with the wood and brass necklace is Juliet Ollivander, though I wouldn't be surprised if her son were to take the lordship over in the next few years. She and Garrick Ollivander are first cousins, her first daughter works with him but in the Hogsmeade shop, and her youngest daughter is a squib. The water-themed witch next to her is Lady Rose Sykes, a lot of the pureblood snobs don't like her because she has one muggle grandmother and the House of Sykes makes its fortune with technomagic adaptation."

Ms Khorasani gave him a look that said "what the hell do you need me for, you already know everything about everyone?". Still, she only asked:

"And the other people around them?"

"Advisors, mostly. The thirty-seven noble houses can have one advisor each, and potentially a delegate, selected amongst blood relations, though it doesn't have to be closely related: you will fill both those spots, depending on the situation. I think it can go up to fifth cousin, or more if it's in a secondary branch of the family? I mean, that wizard with the red ribbon lanyard on his glasses is a distant cousin of Lord Drennan and acts as his delegate, since Tilden Drennan is incapable of speaking in public and his son shut himself out of society not so long ago."

No one knew what that meant for the future of the House of Drennan – they didn't have a plethora of relatives within the rules of noble inheritance like, say, the Weasleys – if the son remained a hermit, but for now, Sirius would rather focus on current events.

Besides, several other Houses might become defunct in the next years, if murders and other unpleasant incidents kept happening. A lot of families had been badly hit the first time around and might not survive a second pruning.

...That included Houses on the other side, too. Take the Lestranges: Rodolphus and Rabastan were alive, yes, but they were the only ones by Blood left, they didn't have children, and they might get themselves killed or thrown back in Azkaban, so, really, purebloods were suffering from this too.

Not that Sirius thought it'd be sad to see those two go, but still: the irony was striking.

"We're missing a few heads already, ones that I can tell you won't be there no matter how long we wait. Rodolphus Lestrange is on the run and no one can replace him, the Gaunts have been defunct for a few decades. Merlin, we might not even have had Drennan's delegate, had dragon pox done the lord in this summer..."

Ms Khorasani hummed along, but when Sirius stopped there, she looked away from the Malfoy delegate – after Abraxas Malfoy's death a couple of years ago, Lucius had apparently told everyone he was "too busy" for the Wizengamot and had therefore appointed his uncle in his stead, which had been a shock for a lot of people – and gave him a pointed look.

"What about the House of Potter? Do you intend to remedy that?"

Sirius grimaced.

There wasn't anyone left except Harry – who wasn't of age or prepared, and more, who was busy doing his best to stay alive despite Voldepants' efforts – and the potential long-forgotten cousins were all strangers that Harry would never be able to parse out. Appointing a delegate meant you either trusted the person or could control what they did and said in your name, and Harry...

Well. Let's just say Sirius hadn't pushed the issue, when his godson hadn't seemed very enthusiastic in learning how the Wizengamot worked. As he'd told Harry...

"...The Wizengamot managed for fifteen years without the House of Potter, and he needs to learn a lot before I'd even consider him ready to set a foot here. Harry just isn't ready."

His advisor's eyebrows arched up:

"Also, he's still in school."

A smile twitched upon Sirius' lips.

"There's that, too."

While they'd been talking, several more people had joined them within the antechamber to the auditorium, blocking the entrance doors from view.

There, huddled together, were Lord Bulstrode, Lady Burke and Lord Hawksworth – figuring out why they'd flocked together despite a lack of close familial ties, friendships or political views wasn't that hard: they were all in shaky waters these days, even if they hadn't done anything themselves. Dorian Bulstrode, before he'd become the Lord of his house, had been vocal enough about his stance on blood purity, though he'd also confessed since then that a lot of it had been posturing, talking big without ever planning to do anything about it. Philomena Burke, who probably counted as only vaguely interested in matters of magical blood – it did matter to her, but not to the point of being a constant bitch about it – was suffering from the bad publicity brought by her younger cousin Marden, as parts of Rowena Robards' story had somehow made their way to the Daily Prophet. Douglas Hawksworth, finally, was caught between his family's good reputation, running the Clarity Orphanage and securing an actual future for its charges, and his late wife's disastrous outing as a Death Eater, nearly two decades ago: she'd been running around murdering parents of muggleborns, because their children "deserved" to be "properly" raised by witches and wizards – a step up from most Death Eaters who thoughts muggleborns to be just as worthless as their parents, but the stairs to integrity were long and standing on the first step was hardly enough to be called a good person.

The Clarity Orphanage – the only magical refuge for orphaned children in the country, a Diagon Alley institution almost as old as Hogwarts – still had to recover from that particular blow.

Pointing that out to Ms Khorasani had to be done quietly, because Sirius didn't want to point fingers at other people because of their families' crimes. Bulstrode was an asshole, yes, but the other two...

Someone bumped into Lady Burke, as they took a step back – and in the next moment, several others moved too, a wave of surprise and whispering. Sirius frowned, unsure of what was happening – he'd been the target of such reactions, lately, but this wasn't about him, so...

Hawksworth and Burke parted to let Lord Nott walk over – decisiveness set in his jaw, nothing had changed in the older man's eyes since he'd forced the lordship out of his jailed brother's hands, and who could blame him? He'd recently found out that the previous lord was responsible for their sister's murder – and her husband's too, because Berenice Nott had dared to choose a muggle!

Nott had taken his niece and nephew in and raised them as if they were his own after their parents' deaths, but learning that it was all his brother's fault?

The moment Lord Nott's eyes fell on him, Sirius whispered to his new advisor:

"No idea what's going to happen, but the only reason Roderic Nott was able to claim the lordship without his brother's support was because Maximilian Nott literally killed someone of their own blood. I wouldn't be surprised if Lord Nott was slightly..."

Sirius trailed off, as the reason for everyone's surprise followed in Lord Nott's wake:

"...prickly."

Wavy brown hair that had gotten lighter than it used to be – more sun, obviously – and dark blue eyes, greek nose, short but well-built – that was new, he'd been leaner than Sirius last time they'd seen each other: there was no mistaking it, this was Adrian Nott.

Or, as Sirius liked to call the wizard in the privacy of his mind, Adrian-the-not-actually-murdered.

The smug ass had the gall to smirk at him as both Notts stopped in front of Sirius, Adrian standing a step behind his uncle.

Sirius did his best to look unimpressed as he raised a lazy hand in salute.

"Sports?"

Adrian laughed lightly:

"I've taken to hiking in my spare time, yes."

"Uh-uh."

When it became obvious Sirius wasn't going to volunteer more conversation, Lord Nott's gaze eased a bit – not too much, he still looked mildly pissed, which was probably fair, Sirius had helped his nephew fake his own death eighteen years ago or so – and the older wizard offered a hand to shake.

"My thanks for helping Adrian when no one else could, Lord Black."

Sirius took his time to look his not-quite-friend-but-definitely-accomplice over – Adrian mouthed "Lord Black" back at him with a great deal of amusement and didn't look overly worried, which was a nice change from when he'd cornered Sirius in Diagon Alley years ago, almost begging for a way not to have to follow in his father's footsteps as a Death Eater – and found him to look absolutely healthy and confident.

...Probably here of his own accord, then.

"Tired of living abroad?"

Adrian shook his head, a smaller smile on his face now:

"I'm not moving back full-time, but with my father in Azkaban... I figured someone needed to take care of the lordship. Didn't quite expect Uncle Roderic to have already dealt with that problem, so I'm here as an advisor, and to teach Theodore how to be a decent lord when he'll be older."

Adrian and his younger brother had never actually met, as the kid had been a direct result of his older sibling's would-be murder: the House of Nott had no other heir available, not without the House needing to go under a name change, which was often considered a proof of inadequacy amongst people like Maximilian Nott.

Sirius finally shook Lord Nott's hand, his eyes still on Adrian:

"...Did you try to give your uncle a heart attack by shockingly turning out on his doorstep alive?"

The older wizard seemed to be slightly amused by the idea – honestly, Sirius had lived that scenario himself, and he hadn't thought it amusing at all – and answered for his nephew:

"No, he was more considerate than that and reached out through a letter first. I must admit to having been skeptical, but quite obviously it is truly him."

Roderic Nott joined his hands together and finished:

"It is for the best, truly."

...Well. As long as the two of them were happy with the situation and Adrian managed to keep his aliveness a fact in spite of the current events, Sirius didn't see a reason to be concerned.

Oh, wait, two exceptions to that:

"You get to explain to everyone why and how you're still alive, Adrian. I don't care if you tell them about me, but don't just send them my way for an explanation, I'm busy. Also, if I were you, I'd keep my actual home address a secret and not even tell them in which country I've moved."

Something serious and worried flittered over the other wizard's face. Adrian shook his head slowly;

"Don't worry about that. I... I have cause for concern, too, and I didn't intend to tell anyone. Not yet, not as things are today."

After the war, maybe.

Sirius passed a hand behind his neck, tugging at the passive perception offered to him by Nebula Spinera's hair clip – everyone seemed to be looking at them, but it was surprise, shock, maybe worry; certainly not aggression or anger, or a desire to spy past the usual gossip and curiosity.

Even if it had been, they wouldn't have gleaned much from this exchange anyway.

Ah, well.

Sirius looked back at Roderic Nott, a wry smile on his lips.

"I helped your nephew because I knew exactly what it's like to be pressured into beliefs not your own. I did everything I could to get out of my family's grasp, though the results might be debatable these days, and I understood why he wanted out."

A ghost of who Adrian used to be – barely an adult, too young to fit entirely in his own skin, absolutely desperate, willing to grab someone he barely knew and drag them into a gutted shop to beg for help – crossed the younger Nott's eyes, while his uncle soberly nodded.

"Thank you, still."

A slightly stretched smile remained on Sirius' face even after the Notts moved away, joining in stilted silence Lady Selwyn and Lord Crouch's advisor, Luetta Dearborn – Caradoc's sister, they'd met once, before, but Sirius would barely call her an acquaintance.

Ms Khorasani watched him for a moment, then glanced back towards the Notts.

"...They said there was enough blood on the scene to be certain Nott was dead even if the body was missing. I'm pretty sure the report said it was definitely his blood, too."

The preparations to fake Adrian's death were as close to good memories as such things could get, which softened Sirius' smile somewhat.

"Oh, I did my very best to recreate the effects of a curse of bone grinding, just to make sure whoever would investigate the 'murder' would rule it as deadly. Collecting enough blood to make it look real without draining Adrian took ages, but luckily for him it's easy to make excess bones if you use Skelegro creatively, and from there, free bone dust with the exact profile of your 'victim'."

His advisor looked at him with very wide eyes.

"A curse of bone grinding?"

...They might not have mentioned that part in the public report, come to think of it.

"Well, it had to be something lethal, so..."

"The two of you thought you should make it seem like Nott was hit with a curse that grinds people's bones until there's nothing left of their skeleton and the rest of the body just sags on itself, but it had to be convincing? Wasn't there something easier, maybe something less horrible you could have chosen instead? Something, I don't know, that didn't involve human meat and, and..."

Technically the curse pushed a person's bones together, crushing everything in their wake as they slowly but surely creaked across the body, eventually turning even themselves to dust. Muscles and flesh and skin and fat were mashed together, pierced with bits of bones that had broken off, and the final product was not something people would want to take a closer look at.

Blood tended to get everywhere in such cases.

Also, there was a disgustingly horrible necromantic draught that used human mash as its main ingredient, which meant that the lack of a "body" might actually be explained away.

Sirius didn't think Ms Khorasani actually wanted to hear his explanation, though.

Diplomatically, he offered a different sort of information:

"I might have gotten carried away, I'll admit it. About ten days later, I had Alastor Moody on my doorstep, asking if I'd murdered the Nott heir. Not that he had proof, but..."

Well. If Sirius hadn't spent so much time in Dumbledore's office as a student, the Headmaster might have felt less inclined to listen to his story and Moody would have dragged him to the Auror Office, if only to grill the truth out of him. Which might have ended up with Adrian's secret being exposed to more than two people, and then Sirius would have done all that hard work for nothing.

Worse, he'd have had a "reputation".

Instead, Moody and Dumbledore had agreed to keep quiet, Sirius had been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix – since, you know, he was quite certainly willing to do the right thing on the down-low – soon bringing his friends with him, and when the Auror Training Program had started taking applications for January 1779 and James had looked into joining the aurors, Moody had dropped not-so-subtle hints his way.

Sirius still wasn't sure if the goal had been to make an even better bloodhound out of him, to keep him from getting involved in – positive, but also dangerous – conspiracies on his own, or to have him learn restraint and how to work with others.

Ms Khorasani just closed her eyes for a moment, probably rethinking their work contract – again.

That was alright, she was unlikely to walk away even if Sirius kept dropping more of his memories on her – as long as he didn't do it every other minute. They barely knew each other, the two of them, but already, he could tell: Yasmine Khorasani had just enough Black in her to want to know where this would lead, in spite of all the other things that should have sent her running for the hills.

She'd endured Bella, after all.

"What did you get out of helping him, though? It was dangerous, getting involved in something like that, wasn't it?"

Sirius hummed, a bit surprised by the question – but he really shouldn't be, should he?

Ms Khorasani was clever.

"Nothing tangible, I suppose, but that was one less person to be swept away by the lure of Voldemort's promises and ambitions. If I hadn't accepted to help him, either he'd have gotten himself killed by saying 'no' or he'd have caved. It was better for everyone if Adrian Nott disappeared, back then, least of all for himself."

His advisor surprised him, then: silver eyes twinkling, she hid a smile behind her hand.

"So you did it because it was the right thing to do, then?"

Sirius could only blink at her: this was not something he was usually accused of, and honestly?

He had no idea how to answer that.

His silence seemed to intrigue Ms Khorasani, who tilted her head a bit and frowned:

"What? Do you disagree?"

"...Not quite. It's only, people rarely see it that way and everyone keeps asking what's in it for me, you did it yourself just now, but you might be the only one who's asked and come to that conclusion. Just listen to me, you didn't argue and yet I'm still trying to justify my actions!"

There were other people who didn't doubt everything he said – friends, mostly, family in some ways – but amongst people who did ask? Yasmine Khorasani was definitely an outlier.

The witch rolled her eyes discreetly.

"Something benefitting you doesn't make it not the right thing to do. Ideally, the right thing benefits everyone, yourself included."

"True... Ah. Seems like the Ministry's party is there."

And, indeed, Rufus Scrimgeour had just arrived, flanked by two witches – the younger one Sirius didn't know, but the older witch was Elspeth MacDougal, who had apparently taken Dolores Umbridge's place when the toad had vacated the Ministry to come and complicate everyone's life at Hogwarts – and, a few steps behind them, Percy Weasley.

Who was pointedly looking ahead and not at anyone in particular, as if he didn't want to acknowledge anyone he might be, say, related to – oh, look at that, Lord Weasley had spotted his nephew too! – but also refused to look at his feet and show any kind of shame because of what had happened during the last year.

It was obvious, though, that something was bothering him, considering what Fred and George had kept grumbling about their older brother while at Grimmauld: Percival Weasley should be busy trying to make connections, rubbing shoulders, discussing important ministry projects.

Instead, he was politely following the Minister and not saying a word unless prompted.

Now, maybe the twins had exaggerated their brother's less palatable qualities out of bitterness, or maybe they'd said exactly the truth of his actions but not of his motivations – Merlin knew the Blacks had often misunderstood Sirius, when it came to the ways he'd been different from the rest of his family – or maybe they'd been terribly spot on, Sirius wouldn't know: he'd never met Percy Weasley. In all cases, he'd expect some more involvement from the young man.

Next to him, Ms Khorasani looked at her wristwatch.

"Ten more minutes and it should start."

Sirius hummed in agreement, his eyes still on Scrimgeour and Percy.

"They'll let us in a couple of minutes before that, but yes. I think everyone's here, more or less."

Lord Weasley – Aelus, Arthur's oldest brother – tried to get his nephew's attention, but the younger wizard only nodded at him as he'd done for everyone else and then looked away. Even the Minister for Magic gave his junior assistant a look, just for a moment, before focusing back on the man of the hour – Adrian, obviously, what with him being not-dead and all that.

Aelus Weasley looked a bit floored – Sirius would bet he'd been "Lord Weasley"-ed by his own nephew, which was a tried tactic when one wanted to distance themselves from family they didn't want to acknowledge; it had always gotten an annoyed squint from Grandfather Arcturus.

Honestly, Sirius wouldn't usually consider getting involved here, except that 1) he knew the Weasleys even if he'd never met Percy, 2) he had left everything and everyone behind once upon a time because he'd disagreed with his family on several matters, and 3) while he trusted Scrimgeour as Minister for Magic a lot more than Fudge, watching the rather ineffectual attempt, on Harry's birthday, at trying to use Percy as an excuse to talk to his godson, had been extremely painful.

Even more so as Percy had looked like he wanted nothing less than to bolt out of the Burrow, away from his parents and siblings and everything he'd relinquished while working for Fudge. Sirius knew exactly how well he'd have taken being asked to infiltrate his own family – for the Order, for the Auror Office – after running away in the first place – he'd have done it, had it been the only way, but that didn't mean he'd have liked it – though, no one had asked, because they knew it couldn't have worked anyway.

So, yes, resolving that particular problem might have value in itself – and, you know, be better for everyone in general – but at the same time...

The thing was, Sirius and Percy had both left their family behind, but they'd also done it on wildly different terms. Sirius had left because he couldn't stay, because he'd started thinking about killing his own parents at times, because everything was becoming too much and not enough and there was no way he could come up with to make them see that, and even today, he was still convinced he'd made the right choice.

Percy Weasley, on the other hand, had left home to listen to Cornelius Fudge as the former Minister denied the Dark Bastard's return and any kind of true danger, as he'd justified it by claiming that Dumbledore and Harry were lying, senile and crazy, and, well. Either Percy had only wanted to advance his own career, no matter the cost, or he'd actually believed Fudge.

Regardless of how exactly he'd convinced himself that leaving was for the best, the problem was that he'd been deafeningly wrong. Sirius had no idea of how to address that, and suspected his meddling here might be taken the wrong way depending on how he tried to tackle the issue.

Better keep it in mind for another time, then.

"Oh, Sirius!"

The wizard blinked, taken by surprise – what was Nymphadora doing here? – as his head swiveled in search of his younger cousin.

Dora, indeed, pushed her way between Lord Macmillan – who'd only taken the mantle a couple of years ago, as his grandfather, who was also Grandmother Melania's brother, was getting extremely old, and his father was uninterested in politics – and the Vitality representative, closely followed by a young woman about her age, with glittery flowers braided into light brown hair. He'd seen her somewhere before, he believed.

Nymphadora let out a relieved sigh as she stepped out of the crowd and pushed hair with streaks of pale pink out of her eyes.

"Right, I wasn't certain I'd make it before you lot got in there. Here, take this back, I found it in my pocket this morning, must have broken off when you helped me up the stairs or something."

His cousin's hand opened to reveal Sirius' missing sodalite marble – he'd figured he'd dropped it somewhere in Grimmauld Place, which was apparently not untrue.

He picked it up with a small smile:

"I have a whole bag of those, you know. I just took another one when I went to bed, it wasn't a problem. You didn't need to give it back, frankly."

Dora shrugged.

"Good to know, I guess. Still. I'd rather not make off with your stuff, I'm not Mundungus."

The image she'd just painted – a kleptomaniac cousin, spiky pink hair and combat boots, pipe in the corner of her mouth and pockets filled with odds and bits that dubiously belonged to no one – drew a short laugh out of Sirius.

"You never know, maybe it's catching."

The witch's eyes widened.

"I did cross paths with Dung on the way in, right! Maybe he sneezed on me, who knows. Anyway, I... Oh, hello. Yasmine, right?"

Sirius' advisor gave Dora a tight smile, possibly unsure of how to react.

"That's me. And I think people are starting to get in, Lord Black."

A quick look towards the crowd confirmed Yasmine's statement: though Sirius couldn't see the doors from here, heads were turning, heels shuffling around.

Ah, Frank was over there, though he wasn't looking their way – he looked terribly uncomfortable, too, and Sirius remembered Alice's claims that her husband hardly ever left their village anymore, dropping by Headquarters or a friend's occasionally, but nothing more than that. Unsurprisingly, his wife stood right by his side – as his advisor, Sirius guessed, since she couldn't qualify as a delegate.

Dora clicked her tongue and nodded.

"Right. Not losing time here, the session is about to start and you two need to go. Look, I just thought, well, no, Medine did, but... This is Medine Thomas, the colleague I told you about?"

The witch by her side raised a hesitant hand, as if to say "Hi" without actually speaking up.

"She's great with flowers, and she said someone could make a more efficient version of the sodalite marble by combining it with a white peony or black petunia. What did you say exactly, Medine?"

The witch's eyes drifted off Sirius when she answered Nymphadora's question.

"There's a branch of herbology that allows someone to grow mundane flowers around a mineral to grant them magical properties. My geraniums are crystallized with salt and quartz, it helps against mental assaults for those of use who aren't that efficient with occlumency. I could... I mean. With a sodalite core, a petunia or a peony would actually soak up nightmares and negative thoughts as they are happening, taking the emotions and only leaving the bones of the unease for you to walk around. They'd also make it possible to review the thoughts later on, if you have a pensieve or something like that."

Sirius' eyebrows racked up as the witch spoke, her eyes flickering back to him for a second then darting off in unease, again and again. Medine Thomas certainly wasn't at ease with this conversation, and for once, the wizard had no idea why. It could have something to do with the way she kept trying to distance herself from the offer she was also trying not to make.

...Nymphadora might have dragged her along without actually asking if that was something her acquaintance was willing to make for someone else, come to think of it.

The antechamber was almost empty, now: better to speed this up.

"No secondary effects or dangers associated with using such flowers?"

Thomas worried at her lower lip.

"Just don't keep it on all the time? Or if you do, you need to get through the stored feelings later on. The problem with regulating emotions to such an extent is that you can end up either desensitized or lose your ability to deal with them naturally when you don't have the protection anymore."

Made sense: powerful magic tended to be full of small prints and caveats.

"Alright. Well, thanks for the suggestion, Ms Thomas. Anyone you'd recommend for such a job, or do you think you'd be interested? I'd pay for your work, of course."

He'd also ask opinions on the matter from other people, just in case, but since he'd been working on ways to counter dementors and nothing felt more appropriate than a way to just slide by their depression-inducing presence, it would be stupid of him not to at least look into this.

Medine Thomas glanced at Dora for a moment, then sighed.

"...I could do it. It'd take a week, more or less? If you have another sodalite marble I could use, I'll start on it when I get home. And, hmm. I don't... I could use your help, instead of money? If you don't mind, or maybe you don't have the time, but..."

...The witch's name was Thomas, true. She wasn't Obsidian and Emerald's sister, so a cousin, most likely? Maybe this was about the watch he'd given to Emerald. Or not, but the watch had made her think about him, and from there she might have decided he was her best chance?

Not that he knew what that was about, but. All things considered, Ms Thomas was probably dealing with issues in black hoods and white masks, or, at the very least, with some kind of dark magic.

"Tell Nymphadora when you want to meet for more details, alright? And, here, I don't have another marble on me, but it's not like I'm using it right now, is it?"

Sirius gave her the sodalite marble Dora had just given back to him, tilted his head in goodbye, caught Ms Khorasani's attention, and made his way into the auditorium.

This session's program: werewolves, the repertory of approved magics for the Auror Office, Azkaban without dementors, muggle relations and revelations, wand policies, Dark Arts labeling, underage defensive magic, and surely a couple of other familiar subjects he'd forgotten about.

It felt like being back in 1976, when the Death Eaters had become so numerous the Auror Office couldn't actually keep track of their numbers anymore and laws had started being pushed specifically against Voldemort's influence every session.

This time, however, Sirius wasn't reading about it the newspapers.